Waking Hour
by P.L. Wynter
Summary: Sam and Dean have to figure out what's causing all the bodies buried in an small town cemetery to suddenly come alive again.
1. Chapter 1

**_Author's Notes:_** I just wanted to say thank you to everyone who has reviewed me. I'm sorry to those I wasn't able to get back to, but your reviews were received and appreciated. I'm finally getting back into writing and with the new season approaching, I'm hoping some new ideas will come too. Though I have a couple that should keep me busy if there aren't. So enjoy this new story.

Waking Hour

Chapter One

"Ow, goddammitfuck."

Sam looked up from the book he'd been reading. _The Brothers Karamazov_, a classic. It had been a while since he'd actually sat down and read a book for the pleasure of it. Books were normally read for research or translations, or at the very least to look up the history behind places or people or things. There just wasn't time for reading books for the pleasure. Especially books that required as much concentration as this one did. If Sam started a book, sometimes it would be weeks or months before he could finish it and by the time he picked it up again, he'd have forgotten what had happened.

Dean sat on the bed opposite him, legs crossed, whetting stone in one hand, and a hunting knife in the other. There were an assortment of knives scattered around him on the bed, with guns up near his pillow, and a crossbow down at the foot of the bed. Dean was very particular about his weapon cleaning time. It had to be a time where he could be undisturbed, quiet, and completely focused. These times were hard to find. Especially recently. Things seemed to be spiraling out of control for them and they had been trying for the past few days to just lay low for a while, take a break for a bit. It wasn't working.

Sam remembered a few years before he left for Stanford, Dean had been cleaning and the doorbell rang. One would have thought the world had just ended with the way Dean threw a fuss once he slammed the door shut on the kid selling magazines. He'd bitched and moaned about being disturbed and then had started the weapons cleaning completely over. An hour of work and Dean dismissed it because of the twenty seconds he was away from them. Sam never understood this quirk of Dean's, but he didn't question it either. He could count on one hand the amount of times Dean's guns had jammed, or his knives had failed to pierce, or his crossbow had been too loose. Sam wouldn't question that kind of skill.

"You all right there?" Sam asked, putting the book down on his stomach, open to the page he'd been on. Dean threw down the whetting stone and stuck his thumb into his mouth. It was a gesture that looked so foreign on Dean that Sam couldn't help but chuckle a little. Dean's face was classic. He looked like a little kid who'd just gotten a splinter, which knowing Dean, that's about the same level of wound he was now sporting. Dean only ever fussed over wounds that shouldn't even be classified as wounds. Skin fractures, maybe.

Dean popped his thumb out of his mouth and examined it. Sam got a good look at it. There was a nice sized slice at the top of his thumb, although it wasn't bleeding. What a baby. "Damn thing's sharp," Dean muttered, wiping his thumb on his shirt, checking it one more time to make sure it really wasn't bleeding and then picked up the whetting stone again.

"Maybe we should keep you away from sharp, pointy objects," Sam said, already grinning at the look he knew that comment would garner out of his brother.

Dean mocked Sam, mumbling what he'd just said, before letting out a, "Ha, so funny I forgot to laugh."

Sam chuckled and laid back down on the bed, picking up his book again. Dean went back to sharpening his knives, wary of his smarting thumb, but working with the ease and confidence he normally had when cleaning weapons. They stayed like that for a few minutes, each brother lost in their tasks. The quiet was finally broken by the ringing of Dean's cell phone.

Already knowing that Dean was not going to abandon his project, Sam laid his book down. Just like he thought, Dean said, "Sammy, answer that for me, will ya?"

Sam rolled his eyes, but stood up. He slapped Dean's head as he walked by him, which earned him a death glare and a punch to the side. "What am I? Your personal man servant?" Sam asked as he reached for the phone, checking the caller ID. It wasn't someone in Dean's phonebook, but the number looked vaguely familiar.

"Little brother, personal man servant, same thing," Dean said, continuing to run his knife along the whetting stone as he watched Sam.

"The number looks familiar, but I don't know who it is," Sam said, looking to see what Dean wanted to do.

Dean nodded his head, holding the knife out to the side. "Well there's this special thing you can do with telephones…it's called answering them."

"Shut up," Sam snapped as he flipped open the phone. "Hello?" he asked.

Someone started to talk on the other end of the line, but paused for a second before they said, "Is this Sam?" The male voice sounded worried. Sam thought he should recognize the voice, but couldn't put a face to it yet.

"Uh, yeah," Sam said, looking over at Dean, who was waiting to be filled in with who was on the other end of the phone. "This is Sam." Dean frowned at that.

There was a sharp intake of breath before the next question, "Wait, you went and saw that guy in Nebraska, right? I mean, you got everything worked out, right? Dean's not dead is he?"

A light suddenly clicked on in Sam's head. Joshua. He was talking to Joshua. He recognized the voice now. Joshua was a friend of John's and the guy who told Sam about Roy Le Grange. Joshua had basically been the one to save Dean's life. Sam wanted to smack himself for not ever calling the guy back and telling him that Dean was okay again.

Sam let out a breath, relieved now that he knew who he was talking to. "No, no, Dean's fine. The Reverend you told us about worked." Sam watched Dean's face darken. Dean had nothing but horrible memories from the brothers' encounter with Le Grange. Even though the man had healed Dean, Sam couldn't help but think that Dean sometimes wished they had never gone there to see him.

"Oh good, I was worried for a minute," Joshua said, sounding just as relieved as Sam felt.

"Yeah," Sam gave a small chuckle. "Dean's doing okay. The whole thing was a mess, but Dean managed to walk away from it fairly unscathed."

Joshua snorted. "That kid can walk away from anything unscathed."

Seeing that Dean was looking frustrated from where he still sat on the bed, Sam cleared his throat. "So, did you want something or were you just checking up?" Sam asked, looking uncomfortable with the words. There was really no way to say them nicely. Joshua didn't seem to mind.

"Well, I was trying to get a hold of Johnny, but his voicemail said to call Dean," Joshua said and Sam nodded, forgetting that the other man couldn't see him. "I was hoping to get his help on this job I'm doing. It's way over my head, and Caleb's tied up in something else on the East Coast. Bobby won't even answer his damn phone. I just could use a little help on this one."

Sam motioned for Dean to give him the pencil and pen sitting on the nightstand between the bed. Dean glanced at it and gave Sam a look to say that he wasn't happy about being kept in the dark, but handed them over. "Where are you?" Sam asked.

"Just outside of Scranton, Pennsylvania," Joshua said. "Little town called Oak Springs. I couldn't find it on a map. Took me a freaking week just to find the damn place." Sam snorted.

"Well we could be in Scranton by tomorrow," Sam told him.

Dean perked up at that. "What's in Scranton?" he asked. Sam held up his hand, motioning for Dean to wait until he was done. Dean didn't appreciate the gesture and grabbed Sam's fingers, wrenching them something awful. Sam had to bite his lip to keep from crying out. He yanked his hand away from his brother and glared. Dean looked ready to jump someone. Either that or he was going to start pulling his hair out. He hated when he didn't know what was going on. Sam was basking in all his annoying little brother glory. Sometimes he loved that title.

Joshua told him the directions to the town and the coordinates just in case they got lost. Sam wrote it all down, while Dean, having abandoned his spot on the bed, was standing next to him, looking over his shoulder while Sam sat at the table.

"You know what you're dealing with yet?" Sam asked after he'd gotten the directions down.

Joshua snorted on the other end of the line. "No freaking clue. I was hoping Johnny could figure it out. All I know is people are dying and something freaky needs to be killed."

Sam frowned. "Well, what made you think it was our kind of thing in the first place?" he asked.

Joshua sighed. "You'll see when you get here." Sam resisted the urge to sigh. What was it with John and all his friends being so damn cryptic? None of them could ever just come out and say what was going on. It had to be all mysterious and secretive. It drove Sam nuts. He didn't know whether it was a Marine thing, a hunter thing, or just an old person thing. He liked to think it was a mixture of all three, although he wasn't exactly sure how old Joshua was. Caleb was only a few years younger than their Dad and he was about ten times worse than John when it came to being cryptic.

There's been a time when they all used to get together; Caleb, Bobby, Joshua, Pastor Jim and their Dad. Sam had been nine the last time they'd all gotten together. Something had happened after that. Something that made them stop wanting to see each other. They only went to each other if they needed something. They hardly talked, except for advice over the phone. It wasn't like when Sam and Dean were kids, when they used to see everyone all the time, learned what everyone knew, shared details. Sam didn't know why those "hunter meetings" had stopped. He remembered something about John telling him it wasn't safe to share all your secrets and knowledge, not even with your best friends.

"All right," Sam said instead. "We'll be there about noon tomorrow."

"Thanks, Sam," Joshua said, breathing a sigh of relief. "Tell Dean I'm glad he's alive."

Sam laughed. "I'll be sure to tell him."

"Oh, and Sam?"

"Yeah?" Sam asked, holding Dean off with one arm as his brother tried to get at the paper Sam had just written all the details on.

"Make sure you bring a shovel."


	2. Chapter 2

Waking Hour

Chapter Two

Oak Springs turned out to be as hard to find as Joshua said it was. Sam did his best to guide Dean down the roads Joshua told them to take, but it didn't help that the road signs were all hand painted on wooden planks nailed to a wooden post. Half of the road signs were either broken, leaning over, or simply not there. And none of them were on a map. It took them a bit longer to find the place and by the time they pulled into town, if that's what it could even be called, it was almost five o'clock. Sam and Dean were both ready to kill something when they did finally park in front of one of the four buildings that made up the downtown of Oak Springs. They were hoping they could do just that.

"Quaint," Dean snarked and killed the engine. He leaned forward and eyed the buildings, his face scrunched in disgust. Sam didn't blame him. It was like they had traveled back in time about 100 years. The buildings were old and falling apart. The main street in town was cobblestone. On one side was a river, on the other, just forest. Miles and miles of forest. This hunt would be fun, Sam could tell.

"Come on," Sam said, annoyed, and climbed out of the car. He looked around. The four buildings consisted of a bar, a diner, a town hall and a church. Together, aside from the few dozen homes spread over the few square miles, they made up the entirety of Oak Springs. Dean had gotten it right. Quaint.

"You boys get lost?" Sam turned and saw a man he could only assume was Joshua emerging from the bar. Sam appraised him quickly. Joshua stood about as tall as Sam, but with wider girth. His shoulders were broad and he had a small beer gut showing through his flannel shirt. He was scruffy and his hair was unkept and all in all, Joshua reminded Sam a lot of their father. Only Joshua smiled more and lacked that commanding tone in his voice and face.

Dean snorted. "I was gonna tell Sammy to start hiking."

Joshua laughed and walked over to Dean, standing with his hands on his hips. "Well, let's take a look at you," he said, looking Dean over. Sam grinned when Dean glanced at him. "Yup, Johnny did good by you." Joshua looked over at Sam and grinned. "You too BFG." Sam shook his head at the nickname. He'd forgotten about that name. Caleb used to call him that all the time after Sam had hit his growth spurt and shot up pass Dean and John. "'Cept you need a haircut."

"Yeah, well look whose talking," Sam said lightheartedly. He felt himself relax after just a few moments of being with the other hunter. The John's friends had always had that effect of Sam. When they were around, Sam just felt…calm. Safe. These guys were family to him. Jim, Caleb, Bobby, all of them. They hardly knew their real family, they couldn't, so they'd made family where they could. And this was it.

Joshua snorted and looked back at Dean, hooking a thumb towards Sam. "College didn't dumb him down at all, did it?"

"We couldn't be so lucky," Dean said playfully, winking at Sam before Joshua clapped him on the shoulder and they headed back towards the bar. Sam followed, catching up and giving Dean a punch to the arm, to which he got a backhand to the chest in return.

After beers were ordered and all three were settled into a table in the back of the room, Sam leaned forward and said quietly, "So, can you tell us why we're here now?" he asked.

Joshua took a swig of his beer and eyed Sam. Then he reached into his breast pocket and pulled out a newspaper clipping. It was old and yellow, faded. He slid it across the table to Sam, who picked it up and unfolded it. Dean leaned over, trying to get a look at it, but he couldn't read it from that far away in the dim light, so he waited for Sam to give an explanation.

Sam read through the article quickly before giving a brief summary to Dean. "June, 1978, three teenagers from Bethlehem, Pennsylvania were found dead near Oak Springs. One body was found in the river, missing its head and limbs. The other two were found scattered in a bean field."

"Scattered?" Dean asked, looking towards Joshua.

"Yeah," Sam answered for him. "Body parts were spread out in a mile radius."

Dean turned up his nose. "Yummy."

Sam shook his head, frowning as he looked up at Joshua. "This is from almost thirty years ago," he said. "There's not going to be anything left for us to investigate."

Joshua nodded. "You're right," he agreed and leaned back, taking another swig. "But four days ago, Walter Mills, he was a local gardener around here, kept grass mowed, weeds down, that sort of thing, he was found dead. Same exact thing. Body parts spread out, hardly anything recognizable left."

"How'd they know it was him?" Dean asked.

Joshua leaned forward after looking over his shoulder at the bartender, who was eyeing the three of them. He grinned at the guy, obviously forced, before turning back to Sam and Dean. "A town this small, people know when you're missing." He paused for a second, eyes staring at the table. He gave a small huff and titled his head to the side. "And they identified his wedding ring."

Sam cringed. "Did they talk to his wife?"

Joshua shook his head. "She's been dead ten years."

Dean let out a sigh as he leaned back. Sam reread the newspaper clipping again, keeping this new information in mind. But still nothing stood out to him.

"You got any ideas about what it could be?" Dean asked. "Werewolf, demon maybe?"

Joshua shook his head. "I don't have a clue, boys." He paused, suddenly giving a wan smile, nervous laughter as he said, "And there's one more thing."

"What?" Sam and Dean said in unison.

"You brought your shovels, right?"

* * *

The graveyard was rather impressive for a town so out of date. In the center of the graveyard was a crypt. About 10X10 with a nice statue of the Virgin Mary being blessed by an angel above the chained doorway. Sam could tell it creeped Dean the freak out, but he thought it was rather nice looking. And all of the graves that surrounded the crypt had not only a tombstone, but also a post with what looked like the top of an old fashioned streetlight attached to them. But on closer inspection, Sam found that instead of a lamp or a candle inside the lanterns, there were bells.

They had waited for a few hours, Joshua saying that the real action wouldn't start until midnight. So Sam had done some research, even though he wasn't at all sure what he was looking for. He'd gotten a few ideas by the time they'd made their way to the graveyard.

Sitting by the crypt, Sam watched as Dean walked around to the different headstones. There weren't any names left on them. Most had never had names to begin with, but those that had had since eroded enough for the names to be unreadable. Dean bent down by one, running his fingers over the markings on it. Then he looked at the bell, reached forward, and dinged it. He frowned and looked at Joshua for an explanation. Sam did too.

Joshua chuckled. "No one knows whose buried here anymore. There's no records about this graveyard anywhere. But one thing we know for sure, the people who were buried here were afraid of being buried alive."

Sam frowned. "How do you know that?"

Joshua pushed himself off the crypt which he'd been leaning against. He walked over to one of the bells and hit it with his toe. "These. It's an old English contraption. You ever heard of Nikolai Gogol?" Sam and Dean shook their heads. "He was Russian writer. His whole life, he advocated the prevention of premature burial. Scared the guy to death. The worse thing in the world to him was being buried alive."

"Yeah, that would suck," Dean said dryly.

"Yeah it would," Joshua agreed. "Well the guy died and a few years later, the Russian government was moving his grave, him being a writer and whatnot they wanted to give him, I dunno, a classier spot I guess. Well, when they opened his coffin, they found that he was no longer laying on his back. He'd shifted onto his stomach, lying face down, not at all the position they buried him in."

"So the guy was still alive?" Sam asked, horrified to even think of such a thing happening.

Joshua shrugged. "I don't know. It could have been shifted when they were lifting the coffin. But it doesn't matter, that single occurrence started a new wave of paranoia. People wanted to do everything possible to make sure they weren't buried before their time. And these bells, are just one of the contraptions they came up with. Each of these bells are tied to a rope that's tied to the limbs of the bodies in the graves below them."

Sam looked at the bells. "So if the body moves, the bell rings," he observed, disturbed by the thought of being buried alive still.

"You got it," Joshua said. "A bunch of bullshit if you ask me. Whose gonna be out here to hear the bell ring anyway?" Sam gave a crude chuckle at that.

Dean let out a pronounced sigh and stood up, brushing off his knees from where he'd been kneeling by the grave. He looked at Joshua, impatience showing through his eyes. "That's a nice tidbit to know, but what are we doing here?"

Sam looked up at Joshua and was happy to see that the man wasn't frustrated or even annoyed with Dean's impatience. The man was probably used to it. He'd been friends with John Winchester after all.

"Give it time," Joshua said.

"Give what time?" Dean asked.

As soon as the words were out of his mouth, the bell above the grave he was standing next to suddenly rang once. Sam and Dean's heads both shot to look at it. But nothing happened. Sam began to wonder if it was just the wind, but suddenly another bell rang from somewhere near the back of the graveyard. And quickly following that one, another one rang on the other side.

One after one, the bells began to ring. Dean took a few steps backwards, towards Joshua and Sam, hand ghosting over the gun at his side. The ringing picked up pace and intensity. After just a few moments, all of the bells were ringing with such ferocity that there was no doubt the wind wasn't the one moving them. And as quickly as they started, the bells stopped, leaving an awkward silence in their wake. Not even the bugs were making noises. Sam and Dean exchanged a look while Joshua sighed.

"That's what we're doing here."


	3. Chapter 3

Waking Hour

Chapter Three

"It's the same every night."

Sam watched as Joshua drained a fourth of his coffee cup and set it back down again. Joshua brought a hand up and rubbed at his eyes, the creases of old age sagging at the corners of his face as he massaged his temples. Sam looked at him. Really looked at him. Joshua was looking tired. In more ways than one. He looked tired the same way John did. It was the life they led. It aged you, quicker than anything. Sam knew first hand. He'd seen the way it had done the same to his family, to him.

Although, Sam knew some of the tiredness had to be from the lack of sleep they'd been getting lately. Last night, it had been hard to fall asleep, at least for him anyway. He didn't know about Joshua, but he knew that their little romp in the graveyard didn't seem to effect his brother's sleeping habits. They'd gotten back to the motel and Dean had zonked out before Sam was even done showering. It always amazed Sam the way his brother could just put stuff to the side, put his mind on hold for a while and just let go. Sam's mind was always moving, always racing. Racing minds made for long nights.

Luckily, Sam had found out quickly that the Ma and Pa diner here in Oak Springs had wonderful coffee. Some hazel flavored stuff that didn't really taste at all like hazel, but was way better than the sludge they normally got in small towns like this. Sam was nursing his second cup already and Joshua had just started his third. They'd all polished off their eggs and bacon and were ready to get back down to business.

"They always just stop like that?" Dean asked, awake, alert, and unfairly refreshed. Sam glowered at him out of the corner of his eye. "Nothing ever comes up? No Night of the Living Dead reenactments?"

Joshua nodded. "None so far," he replied. "Though they're getting more intense every night I'm here. A week ago, I would have mistaken it for a strong gust of wind. But you saw last night, that was no wind."

"So you think there's something reanimating all the corpses in the graveyard?" Sam asked quietly, very aware that there were other people in this diner. But for the most part, all of them seemed to be minding their own business. Except for the pretty waitress who had been eyeing Dean since the moment they'd walked through the door. Typical.

"Maybe," Joshua acknowledged. "But I never heard of anything like that. That ringing only lasted half a minute, at most. Short-term reanimation? Doesn't make a damn lick of sense."

Sam rang a hand through his unruly hair and leaned forward, placing his elbows on the table, thinking. He'd never heard of anything like it before. Reanimation was a tricky thing. There were a multitude of nasty creatures or spells that could bring back a corpse. He looked up at the older hunter. "And you think that has something to do with the killings." It was more of a statement than a question.

"Too much of a coincidence if you ask me," Joshua said. He gave a gruff laugh. "'Sides, I don't want to think about if we have to deal with two things at once. Never been good at multi-tasking."

Dean gave a wry laugh. "Yeah, Dad told me about Vegas."

Joshua's face lit up at the comment and Sam felt a similar smile creep onto his own face. He looked between Joshua and his brother, watching the two of them converse, share jokes, laugh and reminisce. It brought on a pang of guilt in Sam, though he couldn't quite place why or where it was coming from. Maybe it was because he felt he should be a part of these inside jokes, of the knowledge of past hunts and hunter stories. But leaving for college had seen that he missed out in that "coming of age" in the hunter world. He was young when he left, still a kid to his father, his brother, and every one of the other hunters he knew. Of course they wouldn't share these type of stories to a kid, to someone impressionable. If Sam would have stuck around, maybe, and that's a big maybe, he would have been treated like an adult. Maybe he could have been a part of the club instead of a soldier.

"Vegas shall never be mentioned again," Joshua said, his voice stern but the gleam was there in his eyes to show that whatever had happened in Vegas wasn't too bad to not get a laugh out of.

Dean snorted. He swatted Sam's arm and said, "Don't ever take Joshua on a job in Sin City. He gets distracted by all the pretty lights."

Joshua pointed a finger at Dean. "Lights were not my weakness," he said, waggling his eyebrows. "I can't help it if they put nudie pictures on every street corner. It throws my game off."

Sam rolled his eyes as Dean said, "It happens to the best of us."

"Can we stay focused, here?" Sam asked, looking pointedly at both of them. They both grinned wildly. God, it was like babysitting teenagers. "So 1978, there were three teenagers killed. I think we should start there. Find out what they were doing over here if they lived across state."

"If they lived in Bethlehem, there might still be some people around there who remember them," Joshua agreed, nodding his head. "Good idea, boy. I knew there was a reason I called you." Sam snorted. "You boys go check that out."

"What are you gonna do?" Dean asked as Sam slid out of the booth and stood up. Dean scooted to follow, but glanced at Joshua for a response.

Joshua grinned. "Town Hall across the street there holds all the records for this town," he said, nodding his head towards the window. "I'm gonna see if I can't find any fun facts about that lovely little graveyard." The three of them walked outside, walking together towards their respective vehicles. Joshua came up beside Dean. "So Sam tells me that guy I sent you to go see in Nebraska, that gig went south, huh?"

Sam cringed and he tried to look nonchalant as he glanced at his brother. Dean was rigid, but kept it mostly out of his face. He looked passive, which because Sam knew him, he knew it meant that the question struck a nerve. Sam didn't think that any topic dealing with faith healers or reapers would ever not strike a nerve in his brother. Sam wondered what Dean would say. They didn't talk much about it. Actually, that had hardly talked at all about it. After Layla had said goodbye to Dean, his brother had closed up for a while. He'd been completely silent for about a hundred miles before he'd started resembling the Dean Sam knew again. It always scared Sam when something effected Dean so deeply like that. But his brother had moved on. He hadn't gotten over it, he probably never would, but he'd moved on.

"Yeah," Dean said, his voice hushed. "Roy was…" Dean licked his lips and Sam wondered if maybe he should jump in. But he didn't get the opportunity. "Roy's a good man. His wife was the one messing with things that shouldn't be messed with."

"So it wasn't an act of God?" Joshua asked. Sam frowned. There was something in his voice. Something that Sam recognized in John's voice a lot. That hint that he already knew the answer to the question he just asked. That he'd always known the answer. Sam studied the man closely.

Dean shook his head. "No. She was using necromancy to control a reaper."

Joshua nodded knowingly. "I thought it might have been something like that." Sam frowned deeper and noticed that his brother had joined him. They'd all stopped walking and stood on the sidewalk. Joshua smiled at them, not a fake smile, not a forced one, just a smile, a true smile. "I shoulda told you boys, but I'm not apologizing. Sam wanted a way to save your life, I gave him one. Don't hold that against me, Dean. You're alive, let's leave it at that."

Sam swallowed hard. He watched his brother chew the side of his cheek, studying Joshua for a moment. Sam couldn't tell if Dean was angry, upset, or just contemplative. He wasn't sure how he would feel either, after everything. He wouldn't be surprised at any emotion Dean held towards the events.

"Well," Dean said at last, the grin slowly spreading across his lips again. "Just don't expect a thank you any time soon."

Joshua laughed, full and heavy and it spread to Dean, who chuckled along with him. Sam just watched, as if from a distance, worry still etched on his face, but it was already starting to fade. "I never do," Joshua told him, clapping Dean on the shoulder and then looking pointedly at Sam. "Now, you've got some geezers to track down."

"Geezers?" Dean asked, pulling the keys to the Impala out of his jacket and walking towards his car. He looked over his shoulder at Joshua, who was crossing the street. "They're probably not any older than you."

Joshua turned around, walking backwards, and he held his hands to his chest. "Young at heart. I'm still a hormonal fifteen year old."

"Two peas in a pod," Sam muttered as he climbed into the car.

"Aw, Sammy," Dean said, climbing in and starting the engine. "You're not hormonal, just broody."

Sam turned his head to glare at Dean. "Funny."

"I try."


	4. Chapter 4

Waking Hour

Chapter Four

It turned out it wasn't actually that hard to track down someone who remembered the three teenagers that went missing some thirty odd years ago. Much to Sam's surprise. But he guessed he shouldn't have expected anything different. He'd forgotten that in small towns, people usually stay there for generations. And luckily, one of the kids had been the son of some farm owner who, at one time, had owned half the land in Bethlehem. So it wasn't too hard to track down that kid's brother.

The brother's name was Rick James, which amused Dean to no end and annoyed the hell out of Sam as he was forced to listen to his brother make Rick James jokes almost nonstop for a thirty minute period of waiting for Mr. James to get out of a conference meeting. Sam swore to God if he heard one more, "I'm Rick James, bitch," come out of Dean's mouth, he was going to murder him. In cold blood. Seriously.

Lucky for the both of them, the object of Dean's amusement finally showed himself and not a moment too soon. Sam had been clenching his fists, ready to wrap them around his brother's throat. A little strangulation never hurt anyone.

Sam stood up quickly as Rick came over to them, wary look on his face. He held out his hands, "Richard James?" Sam asked as the man took his hand and shook it.

"That's right," Rick said and shook Dean's hand as well. "Rick, please."

Sam, upon seeing Dean's grin widen a fraction, decided that he would do the talking in this side of the conversation. Dean had lost all talking privileges. "Rick, we're from the Herald. My name's Nick, this is my partner Francis." He took great delight out of the scowl that replaced Dean's stupid grin. "We're doing an article on historical unsolved mysteries in the area and we were wondering if we could talk to you about your brother, Tomas."

Rick's face fell a little, but then he nodded and Sam felt relieved. He knew how hard it was to bring up topics like this. Thank God the guy seemed to be in a good mood. "Sure," Rick said and held out his hand towards the chairs Sam and Dean had just vacated. "Why don't we take a seat." They all sat down and Sam leaned forward, ready to get down to business. "What would you like to know?"

"We read that your brother was on a road trip when he first went missing," Sam started as gently as he could.

Rick nodded. "That's right," he confirmed. "Him and his friends, Ben and Kirby. They'd been planning that stupid road trip for months." Rick let out a small laugh. "It was all Tommy talked about. Supposed to be their big liberation from childhood before they went off to college."

"Do you know if they had planned on passing through Oak Springs or if they just somehow wound up there. Maybe got lost or something?" Sam asked, trying to keep his voice gentle, coaxing.

"Oh no, they meant to go to Oak Springs. That's actually where they were road tripping to," Rick laughed and shook his head.

Dean snorted. "Two hours away from home? That's not really a road trip…"

Rick nodded. "I know," he smiled. "Tommy just always called it a road trip. I mean he'd never left Bethlehem before. It was the furthest he'd ever been from home." Rick's eyes went distant. "It's unfair, really." He looked at both of them, eyes watering. "First time he ever left home…and he never came back."

They gave him a moment to gather himself. Sam glanced at Dean, who met his eyes, exchanging a look that spoke a million words. Dean looked away first, but not before Sam could gather what his brother was saying with his eyes. i Thank you. Thank you for coming back. /i Sam felt guilt surge through him again. There'd been a time, during those years at Stanford, when Sam didn't think he'd ever come back. When he'd been ready to give up his family, give up his childhood and forget they ever happened, ever existed. Looking back, Sam didn't know how he could have ever been ready to do that. Sitting here by Dean, just being with his brother, how could he have ever been ready to give that up?

Sam cleared his throat. He hated it when he got all nostalgic when he was supposed to be working. "Rick, if you don't mind me asking, why Oak Springs? Why go there? Out of all the places they could have gone."

"Oh it was that dumb story," Rick said, leaning back and smiling again. "Tommy was obsessed."

"What story?" Dean asked, taking his arm from the back of Sam's chair and leaning forward, unknowingly mimicking his brother's position.

Rick looked between the two. "The treasure story. You never heard it? Oak Springs is a pretty big local legend."

"Oh," Sam said and fumbled to make something up. "We just transferred here a few months ago. We're not all that familiar with local lore yet."

Nodding in understanding, Rick said, "Well it used to be huge when we were kids. There was supposed to be buried treasure in Oak Springs. Story goes that back when the colonies first started, a caravan of colonists passed through Oak Springs, one of them a rich lord of some sort. This lord had gotten word of thieves robbing people, stealing everything they had. So he buried his riches. Gold, gems, everything that was worth anything, he buried somewhere in Oak Springs. They say the thieves attacked him and his caravan. And when they couldn't find anything valuable, they murdered them all. His treasure's still buried there to this day."

"Kinda sounds hokey," Dean said.

Rick snorted. "It probably is. But you gotta understand, it was the thing to do back then. Go looking for treasure, all Tom Sawyer, Huck Finn. Kids around here went all the time looking for it. Hell I even went once with my buddies before I enlisted. It's tradition, you know, one last hoorah before real life sets in."

"So they were treasure hunting?" Sam asked, interested.

Rick nodded again. "Oh yeah, and Tommy had it all figured out. He'd mouth off to anyone and everyone that he knew exactly where it was buried. That he was coming home a rich man. Promised to buy me a Cadillac." Rick laughed again, leaning his head. "Told him I always wanted a Chevy."

"Good man," Dean admired.

Sam ignored the car talk and focused on the details. No wonder he did all the talking. Dean got distracted easily. No wonder Dean got along with Joshua so well. They both got distracted by cars and pretty faces.

"Rick, did your brother ever tell you where he thought it was buried?"

"No," Rick answered. "Never told anyone. Not even Ben or Kirby. Said it had to be a secret so no one else got there before them."

Sam sighed. Well that wouldn't help them. But now they knew what the kids back then had been doing in Oak Springs. Maybe it meant something. If that legend with the colonists was true, maybe they had a classic ghost story on their hands? Though that wouldn't explain the entire graveyard or moving bodies they had on their hands.

Standing up, Sam held out his hand. "Well, Rick, thanks for talking with us."

Rick and Dean stood up at the same time and they all shook hands. "Not a problem," Rick replied. Sam and Dean turned to leave, but Rick stopped them again. "Hey." They turned back around. "They told me…" he paused when his voice broke. He cleared it and went on. "They told me it was an animal attack. A cougar probably. I know it's not true. I know something…someone killed my brother." Sam didn't miss that slip up. Something indeed. "I don't know what you guys plan on doing, I don't know if this is your last stop or if you're going to look into it more. But if you find out something, I'd like to know."

Sam swallowed hard. "Sure," he said quietly. Rick nodded back, understanding passing between them. Rick was a believer. He may not have ever seen or encountered anything supernatural, but from just that one look, Sam could tell he thought something supernatural had happened to his brother.

They turned around and walked out of the small office they'd just met Rick in. "You think this treasure hunt stuff has something to do with why Tommy and his friends and that Mills guy died?" Sam asked Dean as his brother was opened the car door, ready to get on the way.

Dean looked at him across the top of the car. Sam watched his brother shrug, thinking. "Maybe. Treasure hunts, you usually dig around. Maybe they stirred something up? Let something loose."

"Like what?" Sam asked. "A spirit?"

Dean clucked his tongue. "I have no clue." They were quiet for a moment, both lost in their own thoughts. Finally, Dean motioned for Sam to get in the car. "Let's see what Joshua's got."

Joshua was still at the Town Hall when Sam and Dean got back into Oak Springs. It was getting late by the time they arrived, nearing dusk. Sam knew that they'd be spending the night in the graveyard again. He'd hoped they would know more by tonight, but so far, they only had more questions.

Walking into Town Hall, Sam spotted the older hunter in the back, sitting at a table, about thirty books stacked on the table, nearly hiding him from view. Sam couldn't help the smile that crossed his face. At least there were other hunters who weren't research-phobic like his brother.

They walked to Joshua and sat down opposite him, waiting while he held up a finger, signaling them to give him a minute while he finished this page. They waited patiently before Joshua finally sighed and looked up at them, the bags beneath his eyes more pronounced. If anything, Joshua looked more tired and frustrated than he had that morning.

"You boys find out anything fun and useful?" Joshua asked, setting the book on the table and leaning his elbows on it, stretching his stiff muscles.

"Well, we found out those kids in '78 were here treasure hunting," Dean said, the amusement detectable in his voice.

"Treasure hunting?" Joshua asked, an eyebrow quirking. They quickly filled him in on the legend of the colonist and the buried treasure. When they were done, Joshua shook his head. "Wish we knew where they were looking," he whispered.

"Yeah," Dean said, leafing absently through a book that lay open near him. Sam had to keep from chuckling at the disgusted look on Dean's face.

"What about you?" Sam asked. "Find anything?"

Joshua nodded. "Not much. Half the bodies in that graveyard just have names, nothing else. Some of them are too old even for dates. But they track back hundreds of years. Don't understand why it's not some national monument or something. Historical bullshit."

"What about that crypt in the middle?" Sam asked.

Joshua nodded and pointed a finger at Sam. "Observant. That crypt is home to the bodies of one J.G. Smith and his immediate family. A wife, two sons, and a brother. They're all in it. And there's one empty spot in it, reserved for someone, but I can't for the life of me figure out who it's for. I don't even know any of their names except for J.G."

"Think that empty spot means something?" Sam asked.

Joshua shrugged. "Probably not."

"So, basically you're saying that we know absolutely nothing," Dean said, sounding exasperated.

"Now did I say that?" Joshua asked, feigning offense. Dean just smirked. "One more thing I found out." Joshua turned his head to eye the secretary at the desk. Sensing she was being watched, she looked up and smiled, blushing slightly. "That pretty lady at the desk told me where Mr. Mills, our gardener friend, was before he died."

"Where?" Sam and Dean asked at the same time.

Joshua's face spread into a slow grin. "They found Mills' weed whacker and hedge trimmer, two things he never leaves behind. Told them exactly where he was before he died." Joshua paused for dramatic effect, driving Sam crazy in the process. "Mills was mowing the lawn in the graveyard."


	5. Chapter 5

Waking Hour

Chapter Five

It was amazing how something that otherwise seemed so small would suddenly grow into one big giant headache. They had approximately twenty minutes until their nighttime bell choir struck up their symphony. Twenty minutes to scope every nook and cranny of this land in the hopes of finding even the littlest clue that would help them with this job. Because so far, they had nothing. They had a dead gardener, three dead kids from thirty years ago, and a whole graveyard of ringing bells. Mix those all together and what do you got? One helluva big stinking mystery.

Sam could always tell when a hunt was going bad when a part of him wished there was another victim to point them in the right direction. Not that he'd ever wish that kind of a death on anyone. Being torn limb from limb and spread out in some cornfield somewhere wasn't his version of a good time, but they needed something. Anything. Because Sam had ideas, but ideas were just ideas if they didn't have any fact behind them. Still, it couldn't hurt to throw them out in the open.

"So I've been thinking…"

From somewhere on the other side of the graveyard, Sam heard his brother groan exaggeratedly. He heard a muffled comment that sounded like something along the lines of, "This could get ugly," but he couldn't be sure. He glared in the direction he thought Dean was anyway.

"Funny," he called out loudly, bringing his eyes back to the ground, searching the grass and the tombstones and anything else that looked remotely interesting. Joshua snickered from somewhere behind him. He turned and saw the older hunter's flashlight beam. Aside from the light glow their flashlights gave off, it was hard to see anything. There were clouds in the sky. Heavy clouds that looked like they should be raining, but weren't. Moonlight was scarce tonight, barely lighting anything. The flashlights were all they had.

"I was thinking," Sam began again. "What if Tommy James and his friends came here to the graveyard looking for that treasure?"

Dean replied back after a moment of consideration with, "From road tripping to grave digging, huh?" He sounded skeptical.

Joshua cut in. "We've no way of proving that, Sam."

Sam nodded, aware that they couldn't see him. "I know, but let's just assume this is where they came."

They were all quiet for a second, going over the new assumed information in their heads. "It would bring us right back to this graveyard." Joshua said at last.

"So, the kids come here, dig a hole, let loose some nasty ass creature," Dean rolled with the thought. Sam kept nodding, listening to them all brainstorm. "But they were the only ones killed by it…for thirty years? What kept it from killing anyone else?"

"And why start again with Mr. Mills?" Sam threw out there.

Sam bent down to examine a conclave in the grass near the edge of the graveyard. It looked like a footprint. A heavy foot, probably a boot. Mr. Mills maybe? This was ridiculous. He couldn't even be sure if it meant anything to what they were looking for.

"What was he doing here?" Joshua said. "Mowing the grass? From what I heard, he came out to mow the grass every Sunday afternoon."

Sam sighed in frustration and would have voiced his deteriorating mood had Dean not called out then. "Did he plant trees every Sunday?"

"What?" Joshua and Sam asked at the same time, both heading towards the direction of Dean's flashlight. When they both reached him, they looked at what he had found. A sapling, with its roots still wrapped tightly in potting material, sat in a hole with a six inch radius too big. The earth was freshly disturbed, the small pile of soil from where the hole had been dug out still sat next to it.

Dean picked up a handful of the dirt, rubbing it between his fingers. It stuck and clung, still wet and moist. "Whoever planted this didn't have a chance to finish it," Dean said, turning to look at them.

Sam stood up straight, looking at Joshua. He paused as Dean stood and wiped his hand on Sam's sleeve. Sam gave him a look, to which he knew his brother couldn't see in the dark, but gave him satisfaction anyway, before asking, "When was the last time someone was buried here?"

Joshua shook his head. "This graveyard isn't used anymore. It's been at least a hundred years."

"So no one does any digging here," Sam observed. "Except for Tommy and his friends and Mr. Mills."

"So what?" Dean chirped, obviously frustrated with the situation. "People dig in the graveyard and get turned into chop suey?"

"Well I'll tell you what," Joshua said, turning around and heading in the direction of their cars. "Let's dig and find out."

Sam and Dean exchanged a look, obviously surprised at the older hunter's haste. Sam took the initiative. "You just want to dig without knowing what's going to pop out?"

"Yup," Joshua called back as he opened his trunk, exposing an arsenal that would rival their father's. He grabbed two shovels and threw one at each of them. Sam caught his while Dean fumbled a bit, before managing to catch it and giving a sheepish look.

"It's dark," Dean whispered with a shrug. Sam just shook his head, turning around to follow Joshua. Dean grumbled something and twirled the shovel in his hand as if to prove he wasn't inept before following.

"We've only got about six or seven minutes until the bells start ringing," Sam pointed out.

Joshua turned around and shone his flashlight in Sam's face. Sam had to hold up a hand at the sudden light on his eyes. "Point being?" Joshua asked. God, he sounded just like John. Why was every hunter moody and snappish? He hoped he never turned into that. Though a part of him knew that he was already well on his way to being there. Everyone in this business was.

"I'm just saying," Sam shrugged. "Those corpses are coming alive, if we dig deep enough, we'll have to face one of them."

"That's what we're hoping for," Joshua grinned and then turned around, setting his flashlight on a gravestone before slicing his shovel into the ground and bringing up a pile of dirt.

Sam turned around to look at Dean, to see what his brother thought of all of this, but Dean just shrugged in the dark before walking around Sam and digging his shovel in a couple feet away from where Joshua was. Sam sighed. He didn't think this was a good idea.

"Maybe one of us should keep a look out," he said.

Dean looked up at him, a strange twinkle shining along with the light from the flashlight in his eye. "You don't want to get your skirt dirty, it's all right sweetheart, we've got you covered," he said in an annoyingly sweet voice. Sam jutted his jaw but didn't move to help. He knew that Dean was trying to guilt him into helping them dig. But someone really did need to be on lookout.

After six minutes of digging, they were about three feet down and nothing had happened. Sam was leaning against a gravestone and nearly jumped a mile when the first bell rang somewhere on the other side of the graveyard. He turned around, shining his flashlight in the direction of the noise. There were a few seconds of silence before another bell rang, this time almost right next to them. Sam turned back around and looked at Joshua. The older hunter and Dean had stopped digging and were looking around. Dean looked spooked, which gave Sam an odd comfort to know he wasn't the only one who found this creepy as shit.

"Dean," Joshua said, his voice quiet but straight.

"Yeah?" Dean asked, still looking around.

The older hunter paused for a second before clearing his throat and whispering, "You got your knife?"

Sam frowned and looked down at the two of them. He watched Dean turn to Joshua, frowning similarly to Sam.

"Yeah, why?" Dean asked, his voice lowering to mimic Joshua's.

"Hand it to me," Joshua whispered and slowly held out his hand.

"What's going on?" Sam asked, trying to keep the worry out of his voice. Something was going on.

Dean took the knife out of a sheath hooked to his belt and placed it in Joshua's hand but didn't let go of it, looking at the other hunter strangely. "Joshua?"

Joshua's face had gone pale. His face was calm, but he was clearly distressed about something. Sam didn't blame Dean for not letting go of the knife. He didn't want to just hand it over if Joshua was possessed or something. "When I signal," Joshua whispered to them, looking Dean in the eye, "You two get the hell out of here. Grab your guns, get ready to shoot."

"What are you talking about?" Sam asked.

Joshua turned his head slowly, pulling the knife out of Dean's head as he did and looked up at Sam. "Something's go a hold of my leg."

Sam's eyes widened and he moved the flashlight to shine on Joshua's legs. He gasped a bit, hearing Dean do the same, as sure enough a hand had a firm grip around Joshua's ankle. It was old and rotted and gray in color with fingernails grown out and sharpened. The fingers were long and bony and it almost had a gooey sheen to it.

"Joshua…" Dean said, ready to act.

"No," Joshua said forcefully but quiet. "Just do as I say. This thing is strong. Be ready."

Joshua positioned the knife so the blade was pointing down, better to stab with. He gave Sam and Dean one last look before nodding and after a deep breath, he let out a yell, "Now!"

Things seemed to disappear into a blur after that. Joshua had spun and slammed the knife down quicker than Sam thought the guy had in him, but just as the knife sliced into the rotted hand, Dean let out a yell. Sam, who was half turned around, thinking his brother was now being attacked, turned back toward him but realized his mistake too late. Dean wasn't yelling because he was being attacked, Dean was yelling because Sam was being attacked. And Sam found this out when something sharp ripped down his arm, from shoulder to elbow.

Sam cried out, falling forward, towards Dean, who wrapped an arm around him, bringing out a pistol that had been hidden beneath his jacket and pointing it at Sam's attacker. He shot twice, but then paused, still holding tightly to Sam. With his shoulder hurting, Sam turned, wanting to see what had scratched him, but nothing was there. Damn, this thing was fast.

"Sammy?" Dean asked, hands already inspecting the wound on his shoulder.

"I'm-"

Sam didn't get a chance to finish as Joshua, who'd been watching everything happen, knife ready, suddenly cried out and seemed to shrink two feet in size. "No!" Sam cried out as he saw that the shrinking effect had been caused by Joshua's leg being pulled down through the ground. He'd been pulled down to just above his knee. At the scream Joshua gave a second later as he was suddenly shaken like a rag-doll, both brothers were spurred into action.

Grabbing hold of one of Joshua's arms, Sam held him tight, making sure that he didn't get pulled down further, while Dean grabbed one of the shovels. Sam thought his brother was nuts. They didn't have time to dig this thing out, Joshua was getting his fucking leg torn off. But Dean raised the shovel high above his head before plunging it into the ground. There must have been a lot of adrenaline behind the plunge, because the shovel went into the ground easily and an sickening, ungodly scream rang out.

The shovel was thrown back out, the handle knocking Dean in the face, making him cry out and fall backwards, his hands instantly coming to cup his eye. Sam felt Joshua jerk and gave a yank on the man's arm, almost crying out in relief when he was able to pull him free. They fell to the ground. Sam, cradling one arm to his chest and keeping the other hand tightly wrapped in Joshua's coat, looked towards the hole Joshua had just been pulled from. He thought he saw something moving down there, something grayish, something rotted, something gooey and messy and ugly as hell. But Dean was suddenly there, firing his gun into the hole. More horrible screaming before whatever had been down there suddenly took off.

The three of them sat there for a moment, catching their breath, trying to figure out what had just happened. Finally Joshua moaned and they seemed to gather themselves. "Joshua? Hey," Sam said, sitting the other man up and trying to get a look at his leg.

"He okay?" Dean asked, sounding irritated and worried at the same time. He was pushing himself up, one hand still held over his eye.

Sam sucked in a breath when he got a look at Joshua's leg. It was bloody as hell and the pant leg was shredded, along with the flesh underneath. In the light from the flashlight, Sam could see gray and white matter coming from the wounds. The cuts had went straight to the bone. Shit. "God, he needs a hospital," Sam said.

"No," Joshua breathed, obviously in pain. "No hospitals." Just like Dad.

Dean leaned over, grabbing hold of Joshua's foot. "Can you feel that?" he asked, voice serious. Joshua looked down at it for a moment, his eyes surveying what was going on before he looked away. The answer was obvious. Dean growled before getting to his feet, leaning down to grab Joshua's other arm. Together, they helped him stand up. "Yeah, you're going to a hospital." Dean looked over at Sam's arm then. "Both of you."

"I'm fine," Sam grit his teeth as he tried to keep Joshua standing when the man suddenly teetered on his feet.

"Whatever, dude," Dean grumbled, and set the quick pace for the car. He just wanted to get the fuck out of this graveyard. Once he was sure everyone was okay and not going to lose any limbs, then he'd come back and kill that nasty sonofabitch.


	6. Chapter 6

Waking Hour

Chapter Six

Sam had always hated hospitals. But he knew that was normal. Who actually liked them? Besides the doctors who worked there of course. Who actually looked forward to going to the hospital? Even to visit. Maybe people could be tolerant of them, could go to one without being jittery and depressed and anxious to get out. But not Sam. Hospitals always brought back memories. Most recently, of Dean. Dean laying pale. Dean laying still. Dean dying. It was enough to make shiver and shake. But that could also be attributed to blood loss and adrenaline.

Because Dean wasn't pale and he wasn't still and he wasn't dying. He was standing right next to Sam, watching with a disgusted face as a doctor stitched up the four long gashes in Sam's arm. Granted, Dean had one hell of a black eye, but bruises they could handle. Scratches too. Sam's weren't too deep, but deep enough for Sam's entire jacket sleeve to be saturated in blood. He'd lost a good amount, too. Enough to make him slightly light headed while the doctor's needle was tearing in and out of his skin. But it didn't matter. Because Dean was here and they were both still standing, well, Sam was sitting but he could stand if he wanted to.

"You're one lucky guy," the doctor said. Sam looked away from his brother, who was oblivious to Sam's observations and looked at the friendly man. For once, they had gotten a doctor who showed emotion, who showed care, who showed that he wasn't just another zombie walking around fixing people. Okay, bad metaphor. The doctor looked up at Sam as he finished the last stitch. "Cougars usually do more damage, even to big fellows such as yourself. You're lucky it only swiped at you and didn't attack, or else we'd be stitching up a lot more."

"Luck of the Irish," Dean said, giving the man a wide smile.

The doctor chuckled. "I'm sure, Mr. O'Malley," he said and turned around to put his equipment down. Then he took off his gloves and gave one last look at his work. "Well, we've got you all together again, but with all animal attacks there's a strong chance of infection. I'd like to put you on an IV with antibiotics for a couple of hours, what do you say?"

Sam was about to tell the man no, that they didn't need it. Infection was something both of the brothers knew plenty about. Dean had a serious one when he was sixteen. He'd been scratched during a hunt, a small, little scratch that hadn't even warranted a hospital trip. Just a couple stitches from John and a nice bandage and they thought he'd be fine. A few days later, Dean's temperature had suddenly spiked to 105.1 and he'd passed out in the living room while Sam and their Dad had been out buying groceries. When they'd come home, they'd found him and had rushed him to the hospital. It had turned out he'd gotten a staff infection, a pretty severe one that worked unusually fast. He'd had to stay in the hospital for a week and a half and for a while there, they hadn't thought he was going to make it. They'd taken precautions against infections ever since. Always a hefty supply of antibiotics on hand. They knew how to take care of it, thanks doc.

But Dean beat him to an answer, surprising Sam. "Sure, doc, hook him up."

The doctor smiled. "Good, then I'll go get that all set up and we'll move you to a room where you can lay down for a while," he told them and then turned around to leave.

Sam frowned and turned to glare at his brother. "What are you doing?" he grit out. "I don't need to stay," he protested.

Dean bounced his head to the side, a cocky move that always annoyed Sam. "Probably not, but one of us needs to stay here and wait for any word on Joshua."

Sam was surprised with the answer. "What? Where are you going?"

Dean grinned that stupid grin of his and said, "I'm going to finish this, because I know what we're dealing with now."

"You can't do this by yourself. Zombies are-"

"Oh, it's not a zombie," Dean said, pulling his jacket on and looking at Sam again.

Sam frowned. "How do you know?"

"Well, for one, you're not walking around doing the Evil Dead impression," Dean chuckled at his own joke before going on, "And for another, I got a look at it and that thing was no zombie. Zombies are limited to the strength of their human bodies. This thing was strong, it was fast, and I'm going to kill and be home in time for supper."

"If they're not zombies, what are they?" Sam asked, moving his arm, testing how much it hurt. With the pain medication, he could barely feel it. But the skin pulled and tugged on the stitches when he moved it and he knew that if he could feel it, it would be killing him.

Dean pulled out their Dad's journal, which he had leafed through while they had waited in the waiting room. "It's a Draugr."

"A Draugr?" Sam asked.

"That's what I said," Dean grouched and quickly found the page before turning it for Sam to look at. "Draugrs are like zombies, except they're not limited to the strength of their human bodies. They move fast, attack faster. And they're spawned," he paused for effect. "from the corpses of people who are protecting treasure." Sam chewed his lip. Sounded like what they were looking for, but that didn't explain all the bells. "Lucky for you, they don't spread the zombie disease." Sam snorted at that.

Reading a bit more in the journal, Sam paused after he read a certain passage. "It says they're immune to all mortal weapons."

"Not quite," Dean said. "The way you kill one of these things is you chop its head off, salt and burn the body, and then throw the ashes into a body of water."

Sam snorted again. "Well that's a process."

"Tell me about it," Dean agreed. "There's another thing. Remember how it screamed when I shot at it? I think it was tricking us. I think it knows what we are, it knows why we were there, and it wanted us to think we could hurt it by shooting it."

Sam looked up at his brother wide eyed. "What, so it's smart?"

"Unbelievably smart," Dean said. "Whereas zombies are mindless, these things have logic that rivals the Pentagon."

Sam shut the journal and tucked it under his good arm, shaking his head and looking at his brother with a confused look. "And you want to go out there by yourself?" Dean just grinned. Sam scoffed. "Dean, what about all those ringing bells. One over every grave rang, if there are that many of these things, it would be like facing off against the smartest army in the world. You won't be able to-"

"Oh there's only one," Dean assured him. "Draugrs give off this…aura, I guess. Apparently, they replenish their power every day at the very time their human bodies were killed. When that happens, they give off this charge. Like an undead radiation. It sorta filters to everything nearby but wears off in a minute or two."

Sam shook his head, not agreeing at all with what Dean wanted to do. "I still don't think you should go out there by yourself."

"Sammy, I got a plan, dude."

It was nearly two in the morning by the time the doctor said Sam could go and see Joshua. Sam had been hooked up to an IV for a while, going over Dean's "totally awesome butt-kicking" plan in his head. It made sense to Sam, when he looked at it from certain angles, but he still had his doubts. There was so much room in Dean's plan for things to go wrong that Sam couldn't help but worry. But Dean had assured him that he wouldn't be going to the graveyard until three, because he had some supplies he wanted to pick up. Maybe Sam could still meet up with him before he went.

Walking into Joshua's hospital room, Sam was a bit surprised and instantly worried when he saw the state of the older hunter. Joshua was resting back on the bed, his leg stitched, bandaged, and resting in a nice cast. The doctors had told Sam that they were lucky they didn't have to amputate. A few inches to the right and they would have. But as of right now, Joshua was bedridden and would remain so for a couple of days.

"Venezuela," Joshua said, making Sam pause in the doorway. The older hunter turned to look at him, grinned, and then nodded his head towards the television. "Jeopardy reruns."

"Oh," Sam let out and then nodded, closing the door behind him as he came to stand next to Joshua. "How you feeling?"

"Fine and dandy," Joshua replied and then eyed Sam. "What's up?"

Sam shook his head. "It's Dean. He figured out what we're up against and he's going out there to kill it."

Joshua looked alarmed. "What is it?" Sam quickly explained to Joshua what the creature was. The older man didn't look too surprised, he was nodding along with everything Sam said. "And that stubborn idiot went out there by himself?"

"He said one of us should wait here to see how you were doing," Sam said.

"That's bullshit," Joshua spat. "He was just trying to get rid of you."

"I know," Sam nodded and then let a small smile slip onto his lips. "But we've got a plan."

Dean sat in the Impala, watching the minutes tick by slower than fucking evolution. He had a machete sitting on his lap, a pistol tucked into his jeans, and a shotgun laying handy on the passenger seat. Dean Winchester was ready. Ready to get in there and kill this fugly thing. He hated the slimy things. Creepy, scary, even smelly he could handle. But the slimy really did him in. Ever since that bog monster in Little Rock when he was fourteen. The slime had stuck with him for weeks. He found that shit in places he didn't even know he had.

Dean wondered how Joshua was doing. He hadn't had a chance to go in and see him before he ran out to get ready for this showdown, but he hoped the older man was all right. He tried not think of how pissed their Dad would be if he wasn't.

The alarm on Dean's phone went off, making him jump a moment before he realized what it was. He quickly grabbed it and shut if off. Turning his head to glance out the window at the waiting graveyard, Dean smiled slyly. "I'm coming for you, you freaky bastard."

Grabbing the duffle bag with the salt and lighter fluid, he put the shotgun inside and then swung it over his shoulder, getting out of the car as he did so. He grabbed the machete, tucking it into a homemade sheath on his belt and grabbed the flashlight as well before he closed the door. "Showtime," he whispered as he walked pass the gate. Hallowed ground always thrilled him for some reason. There really was no physical difference, but Dean could tell there was. Things were more…alert on hallowed ground.

It didn't take him long to find the spot they'd been digging at earlier. There was still blood lightly coating the grass near the dug up dirt. The sight of it just fueled Dean's anger towards this creature. Oh yeah, he was going to enjoy chopping this thing's head off. Dean shook his head at the sight before turning to look at the crypt in the center of the graveyard. That's where he needed to go.

Walking over to it, he pulled out a pair of bolt cutters from the duffle and quickly cut the chain that was keeping it closed, noting along the way that the door had been opened recently, though the chain was still in place. He picked up the lock. There wasn't a key still there, but the lock did have some odd markings, scratches along the outside. Fingernail marks? Oh, this thing was good.

Heading inside the crypt, Dean shone his flashlight around. The names on the walls signaling the remains of the people buried here were well worn, unreadable. But he could see the empty slot, just like Joshua had said there would be. He hesitated on it for a moment before scanning the room again, finally finding what he was looking for. At the back of the small interior of the room was a knob on the floor. It didn't look like much from where Dean was standing and if he hadn't known to look for it, he probably wouldn't have even paid any attention to it. But he knew to look for it, so Dean recognized the trap door when he saw it.

Placing his stuff down next to him, he reached for the knob and pulled it open. The wooden door creaked and cracked as he pulled it up, resting it against the wall. Musty dust circled up from the hidden compartment beneath the crypt. Dean smiled to himself and then spoke out loud. "You know, back in the day, they used to equip all these crypts with hidden rooms like this one so that a secret grave keeper could live here twenty-four seven." Dean grabbed his stuff and threw it into the hidden room. "They were usually employed by people who had buried important personal belongings to them. Gives a whole new meaning to the word crypt keeper, doesn't it?"

Swinging his legs into the hole, he felt for a footing, but couldn't find one. He shone his flashlight down into the hole, gauging the distance, before he let himself drop in. He quickly scoped the room, making sure nothing else was in it with him before he slowed down and took a deep breath. "You know, the funny things is, these rooms aren't ever recorded anywhere, so no one but the owner usually knows they're here. It was a bitch to find out about this one. You're owner really knew how to cover his bases."

Dean gave a small, nervous chuckle, one hand shining the flashlight around the room, realizing that this room was a lot bigger than the crypt that sat atop it, while the other hand clutched the handle of the machete so tightly his knuckles were white. "I know you're listening," Dean whispered. "I know you have something planned. And I just want you to know that whatever it is, it ain't happening. Because I know things that you probably don't think I know. Like the tunnels, for one. What? You think I wouldn't figure it out? I wouldn't figure out how you move around without anyone seeing you? I gotta tell you, Tremors is one of my favorite movies, and I always had a fantasy of running into a Graboid, but you'll have to do."

Pausing in his talk, Dean shone his flashlight into the corner of the room, something catching his eye. In all reality, Dean didn't know if the Draugr was really listening to him. If it was, good. If not, well Dean was keeping himself entertained. What he was really doing was looking for one of the tunnel entrances that he was sure was around here somewhere. And maybe he'd just found one.

Moving forward, he unsheathed his machete, pulling it out as he walked closer to the protruding object sticking out from the wall. What was it? Another knob. But the closer he got, the more his heart started hammering in his chest. Geeze, this was a lousy idea to come out here by himself. Because protruding from the wall was a finger bone, pointing, straight at him. "That's gross," Dean whispered, turning up his nose. And just as he was about to reach out for it, the finger bone started to waggle. Dean's eyes widened. He got out a quick, "Oh shit," before the ground suddenly moved beneath his feet.

Falling was a sensation Dean never enjoyed. He seemed to do it a lot. Well, maybe it wasn't the falling that he hated, but the landings. And this one hurt like a bitch. He fell a good six or seven feet before being abruptly stopped by the earth. Pain exploded in his leg, sending hot white flares up his body, stars dancing in his eyes for a second.

"Ow, fuck," Dean whispered as the dust settled around him. He realized three things all at once. One, he'd lost his machete in the fall. Two, this thing was damn good because hell if he hadn't even considered there being a THIRD room. And three, this really wasn't going according to his plan.

Trying to sit up, he cried out as the white hot pain exploded in his leg again. He leaned his head back against the ground, breathing in, gritting his teeth, back arching. Oh god, that stung. The bone didn't feel broken. But it almost felt like…

Lifting his head, Dean eyed the wound on his leg and groaned as he realized his assumption had been right. The jagged end of a pipe was sticking up through his thigh. His jeans torn and already soaked in blood. The blood was still coming.

Yeah, definitely not going according to plan.


End file.
